


Dean was the One

by storyofeden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sad, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-20
Updated: 2012-05-20
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyofeden/pseuds/storyofeden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean was the one who'd found him that night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean was the One

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Okay. So. This is based on a true story. I've lived it, although I changed a few details.
> 
> Please don't hate?

**Dean was the one who found him that night. The one who put pressure on his wrists so he wouldn’t bleed out. The one who sat him upright so he wouldn’t choke on his own vomit. The one who called the ambulance. The one who sang Hey Jude to him while they waited.**

 

“Sammy, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Sam sniffled and turned the razor blade over in his hands. He wasn’t okay. Instead, her said, “Yeah. I’m fine. Just need some alone time.”

On the other side of the door, Dean stayed silent. Sam thanked God. Assuming there was one, of course. The bottle of sleeping pills was already making their way through his system. It wouldn’t be long now, especially after his wrists were no longer unmarred perfection. His first cut started at the spot just below his left hand and continued in a vertical line halfway to his elbow. It was deep, blood already turning his forearm red and dripping onto the carpeted floor. His right arm was going to be difficult. Wielding a weapon in your non-dominant hand was never safe. But then, that didn’t matter now, did it? With the same plan, Sam put the blade to his skin. It wouldn’t be as lethal. His left hand was throbbing with pain and couldn’t produce much pressure.

“What do you want for dinner?” Dean’s voice was sudden, startling him.

His hand slipped, causing the razor to practically imbed itself in his arm. “Shit.”

The door slammed open.

“Sammy…? Dean’s eyes widened. “Fuck! No!”

He jumped into action, grabbing two t-shirts and wrapping  them around Sam’s wrists, hoping to stave off some of the bleeding. He dug his phone out.

“Hello, 911. What’s your emergency?”

“My brother. He…”

“Sir?”

“Suicide. And I won’t let him die. Just get your asses here.” He hung up and threw the phone across the room. “Come on, Sammy. Stay with me, you son of a bitch. Stay awake.”

Dean positioned himself behind Sam, taking most of his weight. Laying down would be bad…right?

“Don’t be mad…” Sam murmured.

Dean started to cry.

 

_“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder.”_

 

**Dean was the one who sat next to his hospital bed. The one who tried to keep him awake instead of letting the sleeping pills drag him under. The one who helped him out of his clothes when he made a mess of them. The one who helped him answer family history questions he didn’t have the answers to.**

 

Sam, being healthy as an ox and built like a horse, only briefly lost consciousness in the ambulance. Since then he’d stayed, much to his dismay, awake. The only sound in the room was the continuous beeping of the heart and lung monitor, unknowingly taunting him for his failure. And while Dean was silent, Sam could practically see the wrathful storm building inside his brother.

The nurse came in, followed by a short, grumpy-looking lady. “This is Sarah. She’ll be taking care of your psych evaluation. Okay?”

Sam cringed at the condescending nature of this whole thing and nodded.

The nurse left, leaving the three in privacy.

“Mr. Winchester,” Sarah addressed Sam. “This is a private consultation. Would you like your brother to stay or go? Either is fine with me. It is completely up to you and whatever you are comfortable with.”

“Um…”

Dean practically puffed out his chest in a challenge. “I’m not leaving him.”

“I understand the concern you have for your brother, Mr. Winchester, but this is up to Jared and Jared alone.”

He proceeded to pace the room, full of angry energy. Sam knew Dean didn’t handle things like this well, so he allowed him to stay.

“Why’d you do it?”

“Have you been depressed?”

“Was this planned?”

“How long have you had these thoughts?”

“Is there a history of mental illness in your family?”

Sam’s head spun. There were too many questions, too much realization bombarding him. Quietly, he answered each one he could, Dean aiding him on one’s he couldn’t.

“Why, exactly, did you try to kill yourself?”

“I…I don’t know.” Sam lied.

The sweet woman smiled, “There has to be a reason.”

There was, but no way was Sam going to admit what had happened, least of all with his brother and a stranger in the room. “There’s wasn’t. I was just…sad, I guess.”

She was unsatisfied, that much he could tell, but Sarah took it in stride and continued. “Well then. After a few more tests, you will be transferred to our behavioral health ward, is that okay?”

“Does he have a choice?” Dean piped up.

Sarah tried to retain her smile, but she only succeeded in grimacing. She clearly though Dean was annoying. Sam couldn’t say he didn’t agree.

“He has two choices. He either goes voluntarily, or we court order him to be there. That road is not the way to go. I strongly suggest Jared volunteer his treatment. It will make his life go much easier.”

Oh, the irony. Life wasn’t easy before, what makes now any different?

“I’ll go,” Sam said numbly.

As the psych consult left, the nurse reentered the room and began to remove Sam from some of the contraptions. “We need to get a urine sample, okay? Let’s just get you down the hall and take care of it.”

He struggled to get into a sitting position one the side of the bed. It took both adults to help him into a standing position, but he made it to the bathroom at the end of the hall without much help. The nurse had to stand there with him.

His stomach, a consequence of the walk churning up his stomach, tried to get rid of the chemicals he’d downed. His stitches ripped and the IV stopper slipped out, pouring blood all over the tile floor.

She got him back to his room where Dean helped him out of his soiled clothes and into a hospital gown and scrub top. The IV was replaced, and he was hooked back up to the monitor.

It was a while before they got the urine sample.

 

**Dean was the one who visited him every day in the psychiatric ward. The one who made him laugh. The one who brought him Ho-ho’s as a treat. The one who answered his three a.m. phone calls. The one who listened as he cried and mumbled incoherencies.**

 

Visiting hours were everyday at six pm. At eight, all the outsiders were herded out and meds were dispensed out of a tiny window next to the main desk. After getting his meds, one of the orderlies cleaned his wounds and replaced the bandages. It was a nice routine to be honest.

Breakfast. Meds. Group. Group. Lunch. Group. Recreation. Group. Dinner. Visits. Meds. Group. Bed.

Dean would have hated the monotony. Sam thrived having a daily routine.

He’d often wake up crying or screaming from a memory or nightmare. Those were the nights he’d walk past the nurse’s station, smiling awkwardly at the night staff. And pick up the phone. Dean almost always answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey…”

“Sammy.” There was always a sigh at this point. “It’s 4 am.”

“I know. I…couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah? Clowns or Midgets.”

Some semblance of normalcy. Almost.

“Neither.”

Silence.

“I guess I’ll let you go now.” Silence. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“It’s okay. You’re my brother. I’m not leaving.”

Click.

 

**Dean was the one who’d saved him that night.**

**Dean was the one who’d bailed even before his cuts healed.**

 

“Dean, where are you going?”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

 

**And Dean was the one who’d caused it.**

 

_Ten Days Earlier—_

_“Please, Sammy.” Dean pleaded._

_Sam swallowed hard. Then nodded his consent. He could never say no to him._

_“Fuck, yes.” They kissed. Or rather, Dean kissed Sam. It was rough and demanding, nothing like he’d imagined their coming together would be._

_His pants came off, his big brother wasting no time. It was as if they’d lose it all if they slowed down._

_Lube was applied liberally. Sam was prepared quickly. Dean didn’t even unclothe, simply pulling himself out of his jeans. The pants felt rough against his sensitive skin. Dean stilled, balls deep inside Sam, when his orgasm hit. Sam stayed silent. Dean pulled out and moved down to wrap his lips around Sam’s cock. It didn’t take long before Sam came too._

_Dean fell asleep face down beside Sam, who lay awake most of the night._

 

 


End file.
